


The Third Challenge

by Han502653



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Basically me exploring my Skifandrian families relationships with each other, Gen, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Lots of worldbuilding that will probably be jossed, Zeetha is a little depressed 12 year old, lots of headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6061927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Han502653/pseuds/Han502653
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zanta's Queenship has been challenged.</p><p>This is not the first time, it's not even the second. No it's the third and the third always makes or breaks. And Zanta knows what will happen if, in this case, it breaks. She will not let that happen. They will not get her daughter. Even if it means leaving the only home she has ever had, and her family, behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Challenge

It was evening when Braka na Zantabraxus was told that her queenship was being challenged.

“I’m sure you know what that entails, Braka na” The High Priestess, Lukan na Maru, simpered. Lumar na Tara, the Civics Queen, had sat next to her, head bowed, helpless. The people had voted.

She did. This was not her first challenge. It wasn’t even her second. She had a season, three sub-seasons, to prove her worth to the other queens and to the people or else be dethroned. If so, a new vote would go out for the new War Queen. Her two votes would be lost as the challenged. Maru’s and Tara’s one would, unless equal, leave it for the people of the City of Skifander to decide.

The People of Skifander, otherwise known as Maru’s second vote.

Zanta returned to her palace and quietly hid away in her office. Threes. They always made or broke it, and this would be her third challenge. She would fight, oh she would fight, but considering the consequences of losing, she had to prepare.

In the morning, so early that not ever pre-breakfast training had begun, Zanta sent Nod to fetch her daughter. He didn’t have to ask why. He knew.

“I’ve been challenged,” she told Zeetha, who stood before her, wide eyed and concerned. There was no point in trying to hide anything from her twelve year old, novice of a daughter. What she said could, technically, mean many things, but she knew Zeetha would understand. She knew far too well what it could mean, or would else soon realize. “We may have to flee.”

Zeetha stared at her for a long moment and then stared down. Her jaw worked as if she wished to speak but couldn’t. Her hands clenched and then unclenched.

Zanta stood, rounded her desk, and hugged her. She knew exactly what was going through her daughters mind and hated every bit of it. “It’s not your fault.”

A long moment and then Zeetha whispered into her stomach, “If I was dead you wouldn’t—”

“Zeetha no!” Zanta cried, startled. She pushed back in horror from the hug only to fall to her knees to attempt to look Zeetha in the eye. Zeetha avoided her gaze. Her face was that of exhausted resignation.

“Zeetha,” Zanta started softly. “You are worth _far_ more to me than my queenship. If I thought it would bring you safety I would drop it in a swords swing.”

Zeetha took a moment to digest this. “But,” she started slowly, her voice sounding as if she was a much younger child. “You _like_ being queen.”

“And I like _you_ far more,” Zanta said sternly before pausing. Lying would just make things worse. “And yes, I did.” Still did on occasion. She loved the challenge, loved the ability to make things right. Loved the feeling of satisfaction she got when she managed something good and things were better. “But lately it’s been like trying to herd incredibly stupid cattle from a great-plains scorpion.”

It wasn’t her best metaphor but it did its job and Zeetha smiled slightly.

“And we may not even have to flee,” Zanta continued. “Thanks’ to your Zota I have fought off the challenge twice before.”

“…I thought Zota _helped_ you the first time?”

“I _said_ thanks.”

Zeetha paused, and then to Zanta’s relief smirked slightly. “But you’ve always said it was his fault that the second—”

Zanta sighed. “I was trying to be clever.”

“I know.”

“I know you know, you Banduah,” Zanta responded, beeping her daughter on her nose. Zeetha’s eyes crossed for a second and she laughed.

Good.

 

“We can start a war.”

Zanta dragged her gaze up from some paper work to stare blankly at her younger brother.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that look, it _is_ an option.” It was. A war would pause the challenge, and winning one would look good on her.

“To obvious,” Zanta denied. “People would die, and anyway, there are ways around the pause.”

Nod sighed. “You’re not wrong.”

They worked in silence for a short while, and then Nod put down his stylus.

“Where would you go?”

Zanta paused in her work and then continued.

“The Dark Countries—most would not give you shelter… and the few that would—I fear their reasons.”

“Yes.”

“Then where, Zan?”

The scratching of Zanta’s stylus didn’t stop. “I was… hoping you could do some research for me.”

Nod’s brows rose. “On what?”

“Portals.”

“Luhia’s mirror? They wouldn’t let you near it for long!”

“Yes but…” Zanta frowned. “We know there is at least one other—The “Call the Queens to council” has to mean something, it existed before they were multiple queens ruling Skifander—so perhaps, many more.”

“What exactly are you saying?”

Zanta pulled something form the innards of her desk. It was a thick square piece of paper. On it was a glyph fueled sketch of the frozen controls of Luhia’s mirror.

“I’m hoping that there may be other portals, ones in the Dark Countries, ones that are not broken, that we can use if we need to.”

Nod frowned. “It’s a long shot, Zan.”

“I know, but I do not know where Europa is otherwise.”

“You plan to follow him?”

“Do you have a better option?” Zanta looked at her right hand and to the bonding scar across it. Her expression shifted from overzealous professionalism to exhausted fondness. “He left. But he left thinking, somehow, that in doing so he was protecting our children. He has a home there, in Europa. It’s somewhere to _go.”_

Nod nodded. He looked down at his work, and then pushed it aside. “I would go with you.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

“I know, but I would.” He paused, and then added, “And I don’t believe I’m the only one.”

He stood, several papers in hand. “I haven’t heard anything as of yet, but I should go check my sources… and get started on that research.”

“…It may not be necessary.”

“Yeah.” He opened the door, and gave her a humorless smirk over his shoulder. “I’ll get on it right away.”

Zanta signed and returned to her work.

 

Zeetha was silent as she entered the klasu kennels and got to work mucking up one of the large sand pits within. She had been working here with her cousins for a while now. They all had things they wanted to buy, expensive things, and they had turned it into a little challenge to who would buy first.

Zed and Zedmara glanced at each other nervously. Zeetha hadn’t been at pre-breakfast training, or breakfast, or even post-breakfast training. So they knew something had to be wrong, especially with how quite she was. Zeetha only did quite when she wasn’t feeling good.

They worked in silence for a while, but as time stretched on their worries increased. Eventually Zed whispered something into Zedmara’s ear. Zedmara listened, and then nodded. She hopped over to a smaller enclosure where her mother’s klasu, her mate, and her growing litter, resided.

She carefully eased herself into the enclosure, her body twisting as she attempted to get herself in without letting any of the head sized cubs out. She giggled as Skifa, the cub her mother had gifted her with to train, pounced her. Skifa scrambled up her tunic and managed to perch herself on Zedmara’s shoulder.

Zedmara waded her way through the sea of cubs on her way to the back of the enclosure where the two adult klasu’s laid. Skama, her mother’s klasu, opened her one eye.

Zedmara dropped to her knees. Her mother had always taught her to be respectful of the klasus. They were long-lived, intelligent creatures, created by a gifted over a thousand years ago, and raised through years of domestication and training after said gifted had released they into the wild. They were not beast of burden, but partners.

“Zeetha is sad,” she told Skama. “May I take Kodan—”

Skira let out a cry. Zedmara rolled her eyes.

“—and Skira out?”

The klasu closed her eye and let out a single huff. Zedmara stood and glanced around. It wasn’t hard to find Kodan, he was the smallest and was also trying his best to open the door himself.

She remembered Zeetha’s reaction when she was gifted with him. She had been standing in the background as her and Zed had gotten theirs, and she had gone wide eyed as her mother had called her forward with the last, runt, of the litter in her hand.

“Me?” She had asked.

Zemar had given her that blank look she always did. “Your mother was a Princess Hunter before she was queen, and anyway you’ve been working just as hard as these two brats.”

She and Zed had protested, but out of the corner of her eye Zedmara had watched as Zeetha accepted the little cub with wide eyes only to giggle as he patted her nose with his paw.

She had names him Kodan, after the first male soldier. Zedmara was almost entirely certain that was because they had just heard that story from Uncle Nod that morning.

She opened the door. Kodan burst out. As she fought to keep the rest of the litter in she heard Zeetha’s cry of surprise and grinned. She got out, relatively unharmed, and followed the sound of giggling to her brother and cousin. Kodan had made a flying leap and was currently attempting to groom Zeetha’s entire face.

“How did you get out?” Zeetha laughed pulling him away by his scruff.

“I let him out,” Zedmara explained. “You were being quite.”

“Ah.” Zeetha glanced down at Kodan. Something about him made her face crumple and she gave  him a quick hug before pulling herself together and allowing Kodan to crawl up and curl around her neck and swords.

“What’s wrong, Zeetha?”

“I—” She started, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not sure.”

Zed and Zedmara glanced at each other, and then Zed asked. “Not sure? Or not sure you can tell?”

“…Both really.” She struggled with herself for a bit. “Ko’s—She’s being challenged… on her queenship.”

An uncertain silence stretched around the room.

Eventually Zedmara scratched her ear and then batted away Skira as she attempted to paw her hand. “So…uh… you want to cuddle with Wulf?”

Zeetha gave her a quick look. “We’re not supposed to open his enclosure.”

“No. _Other_ people aren’t supposed to. The only thing you have to worry about is being _worried_ to death.”

Zeetha considered this. She looked down the hall to the enclosure where Wulf and Zeba, her mother’s elderly klasu, lived. They weren’t mates, or related, but they had fought together often enough before her father had fled that they were perfectly friendly.

Wulf was her father’s. Given to him by her mother as an, unofficial, Prince Hunter. He was one of the few things left that showed that Chump had ever really existed.

Zeetha supposed she was another one, but she had never really felt that way.

Wulf, ever since her father’s fleeing, had become irritable and occasionally violent. Only to some people though, people he didn’t know, hadn’t known before.

To her mother, her aunt, _her_ ; he like them, and was the biggest, cuddly, fuzz ball.

“Not now.” Zeetha said slowly. “We still have a lot of work to do.” She turned back to Zedmara and gave her a tired grin. “I’m going to win.”

“No way, I’m _ahead_!”

 

All Zeetha wanted was quiet. The meal hall was loud as always. The kitchens were loud as the servants bustled to make dinner. The kennels were loud because Zed and Zedmara _just kept talking_. Her mother and uncle were in a meeting, so even if she _could_ be there, there would be plenty of noise.

She could just hide out in her room… but she didn’t want to be alone either.

So she headed to the one place in the palace she was sure she would find companionship and quite: the gardens.

It was late when she arrived. The servants have already done their job and left, but it wasn’t them she was after. She wandered around a little until she heard the sound of stone on wood, and then followed that.

She found Zox clearing away the dead heads of flowers from one of the trees. He looked back as she approached and made a nod of hello.

“Hey Zox.” She greeted quietly.

He looked concerned and put down his knife to turn fully to her. Zox was an older cousin of her hers by several years, and was some four of five jumps away relation wise. He had, as a child, been accepted by one of his aunts as a Zumil when she saw just how tall he was getting, over the years he had slowed, but he still was amongst the tallest of people Zeetha knew.

He also had a bad scar across his neck and more snaking up his left arm, a permanent and unfortunate reminder of a visit to the fishing village years ago. He had been a newly minted novice then and had been put in charge of a bunch of younger kids, Zeetha, Zed, and Zedmara included. They had wandered a little too far and had come across some mercenaries from a neighboring Dark Country that had snuck into Skifander. Zed had fought back, but he had been badly injured. Now he could no longer speak and had limited mobility in his left arm.

He still fought to be a warrior though, just as he fought to not be shamed out of his gardening hobby.

He pointed to his mouth. “Talk?” he asked.

Zeetha shrugged tiredly. “Yeah… either people are talking behind my back or Zed and Zedmara are talking to try and drown out the talk behind my back.”

Zox made a face of sympathy and motioned with one hand to the area around him, an invitation to stick around. He then picked up his stone gardening knife once again and went back to work. Zeetha watched for a while as he fought through the stems. His dagger was obviously near blunt which made the work harder then it needed to be, but even then the force of his swings were unnecessary for work alone.

“Are you okay?” She asked after a good hour.

Zox froze for a second and then his shoulders shifted in a soundless sigh. He turned, and in the light of the fading sun Zeetha could just make out, “My Warrior Ceremony approaches.”

“Oh. Nervous?”

He shrugged. “Little bit.” He slumped. For a second he was still and then he added, “People keep saying I shouldn’t.” He dropped his hands, and then reached out with his right to rub his left arm.

Zeetha glared out into the distance. “Yeah, well, we both know that people are stupid.”

 

There was a kick at Zanta’s lab door. Zanta ignored it and continued at her work. There was a long pause, and then, with more force than was strictly necessary, several more kicks followed in a specific and familiar pattern.

Zanta carefully finished a glyph and set down her work to answer the door. With the kicking she expected Zemar, so was surprised to find her second oldest sister Zoni standing there, face stony. In her hands were two plates, both full of tokanin, small loaves of bread filled with leftovers that ranged from meat and vegetables to fruit.

“You missed supper,” She said dryly.

“Did I? I set the alarm…” Zanta glanced at her worktable and realized that at some point she had dismantled it to salvage a part. “…Oh.”

Zoni didn’t even bother to acknowledge that with an eye roll. She set down the plate and Zanta suddenly realized how hungrily she was. She snatched a tokanin and took a bite, and then winched as she realized it was abu fruit. Zoni knew she _hated_ abu fruit.

Fine. Fine. Lesson learned.

“So who’s the other plate for?” She asked as she took another bite. No point in letting Zoni knew she won. “Zemar miss again?”

“Your daughter has been missing meals.”

Zanta looked up from where she had been trying to guess which one was smoked chevon, Zemar’s most hated. “She’s been eating in the kitchens a lot recently.”

“She hasn’t been there yet today when I fetched this.”

“Then she’s probably in the kennels,” Zanta mused distractedly. A brief feeling of concern hit her but she brushed it aside. One missed meal wasn’t anything to worry about, and she had seen Zeetha at the morning meal.

Zoni nodded, serious. “She’s also only come to a single training this week.”

“We’ve been doing more private training and runs lately,” Zanta defended. “And… things have gotten harder lately… I’m not surprised she’s avoiding it.” Nor the slightest bit upset. Avoiding ones problems was generally bad advice, but you can only take so much before you break down, and she worried her daughter had already been through too much.

“If you accept it, I won’t bring it up again,” Zoni said stiffly. Zanta glanced up sharply from where she had been attempting to pick a new tokanin. (She didn’t think Zoni would put more than one abu fruit one, but she couldn’t be sure.) Zoni was always a bit stoic, and quite, but she was never stiff.

“What’s wrong, Zoni?”

“Should your daughter be wandering the palace alone?”

“I wouldn’t call it wandering. She spends most of her time with me or with the hunters in the kennels and, occasionally, with her cousins, Nod, or in the kitchens with the servants.”

“Yes, but _in-between_.” Zoni stressed. There was something about her tone that set Zanta on edge.

“What do you know, Zoni,” she demanded. “You fear assassination?”

“No!” Zoni’s eyes went wide and for a second she looked lost. “Nothing like that. I—I just don’t want to see more young ashes put away.” Her voice was stifled as she tried to keep it even. It only partly worked.

Zanta had to close her eyes for a second, even as she relaxed slightly. Zoni had lost a daughter young, too young, at only seven. A swing, a trip, and a fall while trying out a real sword for the first time and that had been the end of that.

Zoniax had been one of Zeetha small pool of friends, and she had demanded the swords following Zeetha’s own embarrassing attempt a day prior. Zoni had always been uncertain with Zeetha’s presence, not enough to discourage her daughter, but enough to keep her own distance.

Even so she had approached Zeetha a week later to assure her that it wasn’t her fault Zoniax had passed. Zanta had watched from down a corridor as Zeetha stared back up at her and said. “If it’s not my fault, it’s not yours either.”

Zanta could count on one hand how many time she had seen Zoni cry. That had been one of them.

She had later gifted Zeetha a blunt hunter’s knife, for Zeetha herself to decide when she was ready for it to be sharpen. After an assassination attempt and a painfully early earning of her swords nearly two years later, she did. Zanta wouldn’t say they were close, but there was an understanding between them that not even she thought she had with her daughter.

Zanta opened her eyes and reached out to clasp her sister on the shoulder. “I will not let her die.”

Zoni smiled back at her, a small, pained smile. “I wish it was that easy.” With a shrug she shook off Zanta’s hand and approached the door. “At the least I can assure she doesn’t starve to death.”

 

Weeks passed by. Nod found himself horribly busy between the research, the duties he was payed for, and the duties he had taken up willingly.

The last, along with Zoni’s subtle advice, led to Zeetha’s quiet move into her mother’s room. Whispers were becoming louder, tensions growing.

Zeetha increasingly missed public trainings and meals. Instead she headed to the kitchens to be fussed over by Head Chef Adra, or otherwise working, mostly in the kennels, but occasionally with Nod, helping him with his royal duties, or even with Zox in his gardens.

She had won the contest many times over. She didn’t say a word.

Between those times she trained with her mother or sat with her in her office. While outside the War Palace’s walls rumors grew, moral died, and trust fell.

 

“There you are.”

Zeetha looked up from where she was half submerged in Wulf’s fur. Wulf wasn’t a War Klasu and such couldn’t be ridden, but he was a truly giant specimen of the Hunter Klasus. Wulf continued to snooze, unperturbed by the familiar footsteps and voice. Zeba pulled herself to her feet and padded over to great her partner.

“I said I was going to be in the kennels.”

“You did, but I didn’t think you would be in here.”

“…I ran out of work.” Zeetha admitted and looked away and back down at the book she had been reading by the glow of a sanahli. It was a book on edible and herbal uses of Skifander and the Dark Countries’ foliage. From Nod’s suggestion Zanta expected.

“So…?” Zeetha finally asked, though she knew the answer.

“…They’re picking candidates for the vote tomorrow; a week from then is the vote.”

Zeetha hunched up into the blanket nest that Wulf had made. She hid her face with the book.

Zanta dropped her gaze and bit her lip. “You should—start thinking on goodbyes.”

She started counting the tiles on the floor. She was well past ten when Zeetha finally lowered her book to her lap. “Okay,” she said tiredly. “Okay.”

She collapsed back into Wulf’s big fluffy side. Her gaze traveled from his hulking shoulders, up his fuzzy neck, and to his one open, concerned, eye. She reached out and scratched his ears.

“Poor Wulf,” she muttered.

“Wulf?”

“He’s going to be all alone.”

Zanta blinked and stared down at the large klasu.

“Hmm…”

 

Zed and Zedmara found them there, and with them, plus the other hunters who were beginning to trickle in to feed the animals, Zanta felt comfortable leaving Zeetha. She doubted they would target her now; they would wait to do it legitimately.

Even the thought of that made her lip curl.

She found Nod deep in the library archives. He sat at a table: papers, scrolls and books were littered about, most in Old or Elder Skiff. He was hunched down so a young servant boy could easily whisper into his ear. Zanta stood back and waited until the servant had run off. She approached. He looked up at the sounds of her footsteps, and at the sight of her relaxed but also drooped.

“You heard?”

“Probably as soon as you did.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Zanta’s face.

Nod pulled a book out from the pouch he always kept by his side. “This is all I have—I was hoping to add some more sources and info but, well, there really _isn’t_ time.” He stared down at the small, unassuming, book. “I just—I wish I could do more for you,” he said softly.

“Oh Nod,” Zanta murmured, wrapping her arms over his shoulders. “You have done more than enough.”

“It’s just—you’re my big sister—you’ve been watching over me forever—”

“And you’ve been watching me for nearly as long,” Zanta murmured into his neck. “I would be nothing without you. Without you—this may never have gotten the chance to happen, because—”

Zanta couldn’t finish. Nod didn’t need her too. His mind flashed with images: of his niece, much younger, terrified but ferocious, of false servants, of daggers and swords, and poison.

“Thank you so much,” Zanta said. Her voice simmered in relief, and grief, and gratitude.

Nod clasped one of his hands onto her wrist. “I wish I could go with you.”

Zanta pushed away from Nod’s back. The position was uncomfortable, what with him sitting and her height. Instead she stretched her legs out behind her and, by using his shoulders as elbow rests, rested her head and hands on top of his head.

Despite everything Nod had to roll his eyes.

“You have your own life.”

“Yeah, and so far you have been a pretty big part of it.”

“What about Princess Mekay?”

Nod blushed at the name of Lumar na Tara’s Zumil. “We barely ever see each other.”

“Well, you’ll soon be having more free time.”

Nod groaned. “Oh, it’s going to be so _much_ fun being _nothing_ but a simple historian again.”

“Your spy ring isn’t going anywhere, Nod, you can still stalk around.”

“Yeah and do what – someone as old fashioned as Maru wants isn’t going to accept a male spymaster, let alone one focused on spying internally, and I wouldn’t want to work for them anyway.”

He pouted and rolled his eyes as a thought came to him. “I could tell Zemar—we could gossip like a bunch of old tile players.”

“Well—that wouldn’t be anything _new_.”

“Oh shut up Zanta—you are just as bad.”

“You’re just jealous that I always beat you two at tiles.”

The two couldn’t help but laugh. Their laughter echoed through the deserted archives, with its high ceilings and cobwebbed walls.

The laughter was slow to fade, but by the end it was horribly bittersweet. Nod managed to hold onto his smile, though it had caught a twinge of sadness. “I’m going to miss this.”

“Me too.”

“I wish there was a way that we could… still talk.”

“I’ve thought of that… and had a few ideas—but I don’t want to risk you here.”

“If you can do it—I don’t really care the risk as long as it doesn’t risk you or Zeetha.” He glanced up. All he could really see was her chin and nose framed by dark green hair. “If anything—when you find a working portal—or when you get to Europa… just so I know that you are safe and well.”

Zanta pulled his face back so she could give him a kiss to the forehead. “I can’t promise anything but I’ll look into it.” She released him and stood up with a stretch.

“Now I need you to tell me what you’ve found…” She paused, worried her lip, and sighed. “And I’ve had a thought… one that I’m not sure if I want you to talk me _into_ , or _out of_.”

Nod chocked an eyebrow. “What is it?”

 

Zemar found Zanta in the kennels. Zeetha was gone, having been sent to Nod to return his book and then to journey with him to get a new pair of boots.

Zanta hated to say it but she was surprised as Zemar pounced from the shadows and pulled her into a fierce hug. She nearly dropped the harness she had been absent-mindlessly cleaning. Sometimes old habits were the best busy work to think on.

Zeda huffed from where she was being a fuzzy footrest, unimpressed by her partner’s observation skills.

“I heard,” Zemar told her.

“I’m sure everyone has by now.”

Zemar pushed back. She observed her little sister with a concerned frown.

“No shirt today?”

“I’m not queen anymore. I’m no longer required to wear a shirt all the time.”

“Well I suppose that’s _one_ upside for you.”

“Yeah, one I’m using to its full potential while I can—I’ll probably be forced into one soon.”

“Yeah, better on your back than taking up room in a bag.”

The two fell silent. Out of sheer, ingrained by years of drilling, habit Zemar also picked up a harness and rag.

After a while Zanta asked. “How are your children?”

“I—” Zemar frowned, staring off into the distance. “I don’t think it’s completely hit them yet. They know it’s a possibility, but I don’t think they know it’s the _only_ possibility, or that you will go so soon.”

She glanced back down at her work. “When it hits, it will be hard.”

“I’ve told Zeetha to think on goodbyes.”

“Do you think she will?”

“I don’t know… but I won’t bring it up again, she’s old enough to make the decision.”

They worked in silence some more, which Zanta found uncomfortable. She was used to talk when with her sister, like, yes Nod, gossiping tile players. It was unnatural and heartbreaking.

So she tried to break it.

“Perhaps it will provoke a gifting.”

“Oh Ashtara’s ever changing hair, I was hoping you would be there to help me with that.” Zemar groaned looking a little peeky.

“He can use my lab and the materials in it, if they don’t confiscate them before it happens.”

“…Do you wish the death of my son?”

“It has blast shields to help with explosions,” Zanta said soothingly, her eyebrows coming together in concern. She reached out and grasped Zemar’s shoulder. “And he’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Zemar glanced away in embarrassment. “I know he will…” she defended and then slumped a little. “…Thanks. You didn’t have to do that… or let him work with you in your lab all those times.”

“It helps get rid of the fidgetiness he’s been feeling as of late, and honestly I was hoping it would provoke the gifting itself so I didn’t leave you on your own in this.” Zanta bit her lip and wondered if she should tell Zemar that, by exposing Zed to some of the things Europa Sparks could do, she probably made his gifting even more of a debacle. That sounded dangerous so she held her tongue.

“And at any rate, you didn’t have to give her that cub.” Zanta smiled over to her softly and just held in a smirk as Zemar shifted uncomfortably. “I should be thanking you for all you have done from my daughter, and your children as well.”

“We didn’t do anything that shouldn’t have been done.” Zemar brushed off. “The kid didn’t deserve all that—neither of them did.”

Zanta smiled and closed her eyes as she was flooded with the gratitude and relief she always got when her sister so easily brushed the topic off as the most stupid concept ever.

Still. “The cub, one of your partner’s own I may add, was a necessity?”

Zemar didn’t meet her eyes. “Not a gift, she earned it…and anyway, Queen or not, you’re a Princess Hunter so it made sense. Plus it’s always best to start young for both of them, and it’s a good experience, and—”

Zemar clicked her mouth shut and snorted at her own silliness. Quieter, and with notable embarrassment, she added, “and I figured that this way she’s be spending even more time down here, surrounded by Hunters you and I both trust, and… away from all the stupid stares and general bull.”

“And so I say thank you.”

“You shouldn’t _have_ to thank me.”

“But unfortunately I _do_.”

Zemar shrugged her shoulders in reluctant acceptance. “Like I said, the kid didn’t deserve that, but she got stuck with it so I just… tried to make things a little better for her.”

Zanta debated saying thank you again, not just because she never felt she could ever say it enough, which was very true, but also to see her sister squirm or even go off. She decided against it, but just barely.

The two fell back into silence, but this time Zemar broke it through the clanking of the wooden buckles of the harness as she put it down.

“Zanta.”

“Hmm?”

“Zanta look at me.”

Something about Zemar’s tone had Zanta pause and then slowly turn to look straight into her sister’s eyes. Zemar’s gaze was deadly serious. She grasped Zanta’s head and pulled her close, so that their foreheads and noses were resting on each other. Zanta blinked in confusion.

“Ashtara stands beside you, Enkin shines upon your journey, and Rejin smites those who put false words into his mouth.”

Zanta blinked several times quickly to avoid shedding tears, and then closed her eyes as she failed. She knew that had Zemar been childless she would have offered just had Nod had, and felt both gratitude and pain at the thought. “Thank you.”

Zemar shot back with a groan. Zanta snickered.

“Oh shut up, Kamor,” she grumbled, but with a smirk as she beeped Zanta’s nose. Zanta went crossed eyed and pouted.

“Oh don’t look at me like that you indim,” Zemar smirked. “I’m your older sister. I’m far in the right to use your baby name.” She laughed. Zanta tried to keep her pout but was soon laughing with her. By the time their laughter tampered off it was bittersweet.

“So what’s all this then,” Zemar asked, trying to ignore the lingering feeling of what was coming. She motioned to the harnesses and other tack that they had been cleaning.

Zanta sighed. “I’ve just been thinking. She turned to Zemar. “Do you think—”

 

Zanta steamed as she stormed down the halls towards her lab. Queen or not people jumped out of her way as she approached. How could her mother be so oblivious? So oblivious, that now she was no longer queen, to offer her a position as a Princess Guardian. Was her mother truly blind, did she truly just not care enough, or was she really that stupid.

“Zazumi.”

One word in that voice snapped Zanta from her near mad fury. She spun on her heel and went to bow in respect, only to remember last second that she was no longer truly queen and quickly flipped her fist upside down to show submission.

“Subada Zemare.”

Zemare, her grandmother and a former War Queen and Princess Guardian. She was a woman of great respect and achievements. Her faded green hair was pulled back in a tight, practical braid, and she had a wrinkled face that held alarmingly sharp eyes. She wore gold and green robes that covered much of her skin but from what skin that could still be seen held a great collection of scars.

She didn’t return the bow and waved Zanta up. “Kakola, Zazumi. You are no longer queen; there is no need to be so formal.

“Kakola then—what did you need me for?” Zanta asked as she straightened. As she did so she realized where she was, in one of the Halls of People. In fact she had been stopped right in front of the only portrait of her. Sitting down in an over decorated chair, Nod behind her holding a tiny Zeetha. She looked away, pretending that there weren’t two people missing from it.

“You were consumed by gift.” Zemare said plainly. Zanta went a little pink. “What did my zumi do now?”

Zanta went redder. She debated making something up, or just brushing it off, but then just sighed. “Kola asked me to be a Princess Guardian.”

Zemare gave a slight nod. “You would have made a good one.” Zanta shifted uncomfortably.

“What—”

“I am going to miss the Romanian classes,” she continued as she peered up and down the hall. It was deserted. “I doubt the new queen will keep them.” She pulled something out of her bag. Zanta’s eyes went wide.

“A gift for your journey.”

In her hands was a warrior crystal, nearly as big as their heads. It glowed a bright blue, fully charged. With careful use it could last for years, even outside of Skifander.

“How—”

“Being a former queen gives one certain… benefits.” Zemare said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Though it was supposed to be returned at my death—but I don’t plan to do _that_ anytime soon, and even if I do—I was _just_ a little old lady who misplaced it in my old age.

Her grin was sharp. Zanta stared.

“Kakola I—”

Zemare pushed the crystal into Zanta’s hands. Zanta stared down at it. “Take it.” Zemare told her. “It will help you on your journey, and allow you to continue using your gift to its full potential, even outside our boarders.”

The crystal was heavy, but that would no longer be a problem. Zanta would have thanked her, but Zemar hadn’t gotten her aversion to thanks from nowhere. When she finally managed to look up Zemare had already begun making her leave.

Over her shoulder she called back, “Before you depart, send young Zeetha to me.”

 

Zeetha stared at the door that led to her great-grandmother’s quarters. She had known it was here her entire life, but she had never actually been here before. She wouldn’t say she was scared. It wasn’t like that. Zemare had a presence that demanded deep respect, and yes, was a little intimidating, but she wasn’t afraid. It was hard to be afraid of someone who had been joining her for Romanian lessons since she could remember, and sometimes journeyed down to the children’s ward to tell learning stories.

Still it was weird to be asked to her quarters. She couldn’t think of any reason why she would be. Zeetha swallowed, took a deep breath, and then knocked.

She wasn’t scared…she was just a bit nervous. It wasn’t as if it was her grandmother.

“Come in.”

Zeetha pushed open the door. She stopped just inside and couldn’t help but glance around. Most people of the family only had a bedroom and maybe, for higher ranking members, a small office elsewhere. As Queen her mother had an extra room attached to her bedroom that was used for the occasional meal but more often acted as a second office and meeting hall. (Once, a long time ago she also had a third room, for use of a nursery, but that hadn’t lasted.)

But her great-grandmother quarters, as matriarch of a family line, were even grander. (Her mother’s could have been grander, but Zanta didn’t care for stuff like that, and anyway it would have looked bad on her.) The entrance room she had walked into had several doors leading off from it. One was half opened and looked like it led to a private bath. Zeetha hadn’t even known that was possible.

The entrance room had a small sitting arrangement situated in front of a small fireplace. The room had more in it than she was used to, but wasn’t clutter so much as a nod to the fact her great-grandmother had lived a long life and had picked up a lot of trophies and mementos from it.

Above the fireplace was a large sketch with only a few dashes of color added in. Zeetha took a couple of small steps forward and squinted. It was a sketch of a family. Her family she realized as she spotted the orange haired toddler in the central figures arms. It had to be Uncle Nod, and holding him a much younger Zemare.

“I keep meaning to have a new one made.” A voice said from behind. Zeetha jumped and turned to find her great-grandmother standing in another doorway, one that seemed to lead to a personal library. “A whole new generation has come since that was made.”

Zeetha froze in order to stop herself from shifting nervously as Zemare walked over to stand at her side. Zemare didn’t pay her any mind and focused on the sketch.

“Zanora, Nodia, Nodiak, Zemer, Zanix, Zadrabraxus, Zanobraxus, Zonia, Rokan, Zedbraxut—” She sighed. “I keep wondering if I should keep them in for the next one or not.” Her voice was soft. Zeetha turned back to the sketch, eyes locking on family that no longer remained. Some even that she had never met. All people who had died in the wars, or from great beasts, or unfortunate sickness, or even in a few rare cases, simply old age.

“Being in this family is never safe,” she told Zeetha, laying a hand on her shoulder. Zeetha pretended she didn’t jump. Zemare was kind enough to do the same.

Zeetha’s eyes dropped, and then slid over to her. “Subada, why am I here?”

There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for an answer, Zeetha’s grandmother, Zabaraxus entered. Zeetha tried to pretend that the urge to jump behind Zemare was not because she wanted to hide.

“Kola, I brought—” She stopped abruptly as she noticed Zeetha. Zeetha shifted. Zemare tsk’ed.

“I’ll take that,” she said, ignoring the tension. “And wait a moment; I have some papers for you to run down to the Guardian’s office.” She took the papers and walked into her library. Zeetha clenched her jaw and attempted to stand as tall as she could.

Zabar looked down her nose at her. “Don’t you know how to great properly.”

Zeetha jumped and quickly but stiffly bowed with her fisted fingers aimed to the floor and swallowed down protest about how Zabar was supposed to bow back, or how she had hadn’t bowed to Zemare, her own mother and Kolee.

“What are you doing here?” The voice was level but Zeetha could hear the disproval and disappointment anyway. “This is not a place where you just show up unannounced—”

“I happened to have _invited_ her here, Zumil,” Zemare said as she returned a thick stack of papers in her hand. Her voice was just like Zanta when she was scolding and Zeetha’s eyes widened as she watched her grandmother actually cower for a second. “And _you_ were the one who arrived unannounced; you didn’t even wait to be called in.”

Zabar’s face went red. “I’ve never needed to before—” she realized what she was doing and stiffened. “I’ll take these right away,” she said as she snatched them and all but fled the room. Zeetha wished she could feel satisfaction, or vindicated, or even just happy about it, but all she felt was awkward and tired.

“She hates me,” Zeetha found herself muttering before she slapped her hand over her face as she realized she had.

“She does not hate you.”

Zeetha couldn’t help but sigh under her hand at the often used reply. She was tired of people saying that, tired of people lying.

“She does not… it’s more complicated than that.” Zemare turned and studied Zeetha. Finding… something she walked back over and once again returned her attention to the sketch. “I’ve always wondered if I should have added one more to this.”

Zeetha scrunched up her brows as she studied the sketch. She didn’t see anyone missing that would have been alive and part of the direct family line, or was not outside family, like the Lukan na Maru was. “Huh?”

“Your Aunt Zar was born a twin.” She used the Romanian word for twin.

Zeetha was suddenly dizzy. “What?”

“I will make no excuses for her, her actions are wrong and foolish, but someone should know.” She was staring down at her. Her eyes were kind, but no more than how they were when she looked at any of her great-grandchildren. Zeetha had never wanted more than that.

“Accepting you means accepting the fact that she killed one of her own children for no reason,” Zemare continued. “And as my daughter has continued to show, she is not strong enough for that.”

She placed her hand back on Zeetha’s shoulder. Zeetha was too stunned to jump this time. “It is a failing on her part, not yours.”

Zeetha couldn’t find any words and stood in silence.

“I always thought it such a waste,” Zemare said softly with true regret. “But it wasn’t my place so I did not push—but enough of the past, that’s not while I called you here. Go stand in front of that door.”

Zeetha was so off centered still that she did as she was told without question, though she did manage to blink it off as her great-grandmother pulled out a piece of instant sketch paper, the glyph on its front easy to see, even from the doorway.

“What—?”

“One of the most useful things your mother has created. Pity it will be difficult to recreate once she is gone. Now stand still as if you were in the sketch above.”

Zeetha tried and must have succeeded since Zemare took the sketch. This close to Skifander’s core it wasn’t technically necessary to take the sketch with a warrior crystal, Zeetha herself wouldn’t need one, but Zeetha was still impressed by how easily and quick Zemare did it. As if it was as simple and effortless as a blink of an eye.

“I…why…?”

“If I want to update my sketch I will need some sort of reference for you, since you won’t be here.”

Zeetha found herself blinking rapidly. It must have been dusty in the room. Zemare was kind enough not to mention it.

“The artist will be able to get your color from the painting in the Hall of People. It will still be available, even if I have to claim it for my quarters. They will accept a foolish old lady wanting to hold onto mementos of family.”

Zeetha sniffed, very dusty.

Zemare’s eyes were soft again. “They will try to erase you. I will not allow it. You were here, you existed, and they shall not be allowed to forget that.”

She carefully placed the sketch down and approached the half opened door to the bath. “I heard you enjoy hot baths?”

Zeetha had no idea how or why her great-grandmother knew that, but found herself unsurprised that she did. She nodded, having no other response left.

“Then take one here. It’s private and safe and you can take as long as you like. You won’t get a chance again for a long time.”

Zeetha walked over hesitantly. At this point she wasn’t sure she could say no if she wanted to. Not that she really did, she did love hot baths. Zemare stopped her with a hand on her shoulder before she made it through the door.

“I said this before when you were young, but it is still true. You can be something great as long as you work for it.”

 

“Where were you?” Zanta yelped as Zeetha finally returned to her office. “I nearly started a search.”

“I was at Sabada’s quarters, like you told me to be.”

“The whole time?” Zanta’s eyes narrowed, her voice took on the tone of a Kolee. “Your hair is wet.”

“She had me take a bath in her private bath.” Zeetha defended quickly.

“…She has her own bath?”

“Yeah.” Zeetha sighed in relief. “She told me to tell you that you can use it to, and that she wants you to see her so she can take a sketch of you.”

“What?”

Zeetha shrugged helplessly.

Zanta shook her head and tried to not be too surprised. Her grandmother was always full of surprises and never did as expected. Zanta glanced at the time and then back at Zeetha.

“You should try and get some sleep. We’ll be leaving late tomorrow night.”

Zeetha swallowed, her hands clenched and unclenched. She nodded.        

 

In Skifander gifts were not something that was just given. There were no holidays of gift-giving. You either needed it and it was supplied to you, you earned it through hard work, or you did something, anything, that meant enough that another felt the need to honor you with a gift.

In the end, Zeetha didn’t give out goodbyes, she gave out gifts.

 

Zed and Zedmara woke up on the day of the vote and each found a small pouch with a rolled up note tucked in the top.

Zedmara sat down heavily on her bed and stared down at the Romanian scratched piece of paper. With each word she deciphered and translated she felt her stomach drop further, and tears pricked at her eyes.

Zeetha was gone. She had left last night. She demanded that her last words to her be burned, and she had left her a gift just for being her _friend_.

That was so _wrong_.

Zedmara dumped the pouch onto her bed. The coin that fell out was enough for the glider she wanted. It was the same amount the three had been fighting over who would get first.

“Good,” a part of her mind out of her control whispered to her, “you were going to have to start over anyway.”

There was a cautious, but very recognizable knock at her door. She made a noise of acknowledgement and her stomach dropped further as her brother sneaked in. She knew it wouldn’t have been Zeetha, but still part of her had hoped. Zed held his own pouch in one hand and a note in the other.

“You got one too?” He asked unnecessary, his voice cracking as he eyed the pile of coins.

Zedmara nodded mutely as she shoveled the coins back into the pouch.

“I didn’t read it yet… I wanted—” he trailed off as he ducked past the hanging mosquito net and sat next to her on the bed. The two swung only slightly. The thick, heavy ropes holding up her bed creaked slightly as it did so.

Zed took a shaky breath and unrolled his note, reading out each word slowly. It was personalized, but similar to Zedmara’s with the exception of two added points at the end.

_There five extra chips. If you gifted before fifteen, Zedmara gets them, if not keep them. Tell Zedmara to give hers, if she loses, to Zox or something._

“You guys betted on when I’d be gifted?” Zed paused and rethought his statement. “You think I’m _going_ to be gifted?”

“You don’t? How many times have I had to drag you away from random tools this week,” Zedmara murmured back from where she was hiding her face into her brother’s arm. “What else does it say?”

_About Zox. When you gifted can you remake that dagger I had you make two weeks ago—_

 

Zox sat quietly in his hiding spot in the gardens. The morning light flickered off his novice bands even through the foliage. He carefully flipped a somewhat amateurish dagger in his good hand. It was unique. On one side it was reminiscent to a normal hunter’s blade, but on the other it was closer to the blades he and the servants that tended to the gardens used.

The note that had come with it was open on one knee. It had taken him awhile to decipher, he had never paid much attention in Romanian class.

_I thank for saving my life. I have say this before but I sorry you got hurt._

It continued from there but his eyes kept trailing down further.

_You can totally become a warrior still if want. Don’t let them win. And, you don’t have to since you can only have one in Warriors ceremony, but there many rocks there that when strike with iron makes fire. Your dagger is iron._

Zox looked up as the first few rays of true light passed through the opening of the stone above and mouthed a blessing.

 

Head Chef Adra woke to find a note in the small kitchen used for baking that simply said, “Thank you, for everything” in Skiff. Under it was a bowl; one incredibly similar to the one Zeetha had broken as a five year old when she stumbled in crying after a bad day of bullying.

 

Nod returned to his office, heart heavy, and exhausted from multiple all-nighters, and found a new journal sitting innocently on his desk. Painstakingly carved into the leather cover was _nowlage is power._  Next to it was a vial of, after a quick investigation, the simple invisible ink he had taught Zeetha how to make many years ago.

He wiped away a tear as he looked over his gifts, and managed a small smile at the misspelling. He sat down and began reading the accompanying note.

 

Zoni woke to a new hunter’s knife sitting innocently in her cubby in the training hall. The edge was blunted. A note next had only two words in Skiff. “Your turn.”

 

Zemar walked into her office that morning and found a small carving of a klasu, but no note. She understood anyway.

 

Zemare found only a note. “I will” it said in Romanian, and then. “And you should add _all_ of them.” She looked out her window towards the canyons opening and smiled.

 

Zanta paused as the footsteps behind her tampered off. She turned to find Zeetha haloed by the light of the sinking sun. At her feet her cub, Kodan, batted at her traveling cloak. Still clenched tightly in her hands was the chained together collection of glyph stones. Gifts from Zed and Zedmara, who had wanted to give it to her in person but hadn’t been able to find her that night and so had given it to Zanta to deliver. She was looking back.

Zanta followed her gaze and sighed. The sun was falling behind the mountains, throwing the entire range into a beautiful arrange of colors, but none more so than the Red Mountain. From here they could just make out the waterfall that indicated the mouth of Skifander’s canyon, and the village that lay not far from it was nothing but dots and some smoke from evening fires.

She approached her daughter until they were standing side by side on top of the hill. Zeba and Wulf padded softly behind, their backs laden with supplies.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Zanta asked softly, staring out at the scene. The light threw great shadows from the range, but lit up other areas, such as the Great Tree, which even at their distance, loomed above.

“Yeah…” Zeetha replied, voice quiet. She glanced down, and then after a deep breath, up at her. “Ko… where are we going to go?”

Zanta took one, quite likely last, glance at her home and then turned, one hand clasping Zeetha’s shoulder. “I was thinking Europa,” she said plainly. She looked back at Zeetha’s, who was gaping up at her. “I think it’s about time we found your father.”

 

Zedmara got her glider. Her favorite color was green. Her new gliders wings were a dark blue. Zed was gifted only months later, long before he was fifteen. The first thing he built was a new pair of swords, which, in his mad fueled fury, demanded were for Zeetha.

The second thing he made was a new, better hunting and gardening knife for Zox, as promised. By then Zox had already proved all the naysayers wrong by getting through his Warrior Ceremony by the skin of his teeth, with the help of an amateurish dagger that kept him warm in the freezing nights.

Zoni started training with a new, sharpened, hunter’s knife at her hip. Nod used his journal in his pursuit of knowledge, from books or… _other_ sources. Zemar never took the small statue off her desk, which otherwise lay completely bare of ornamentation. Head Chef Adra refused to let anyone but herself use the bowl while baking. Zabar was honestly thrown by her daughter’s disappearance.

Zemare had her new sketch done and all her great-grandkids stood in it, as well as all of those that had passed. Strange shadows, ones that were often thought of smudging by the ill observant or the disbelievers, hovered behind Zar and Zeetha’s backs.

And as always, life went on, though, unquestioningly, changed.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so Zanta bringing all three of the klasus with them is so not realistic, but I like it to much to care. And also yeah, this here ended up as a way to show off all my oc's family members and their relationships but I think I did well.
> 
> [Have a sketchy pic to go along with this.](http://han100894.tumblr.com/post/139630526579/this-is-kinda-messy-but-shh-i-like-it-anyway) Is it still considered fanart If I draw it?
> 
>  **Skiff Glossary:**  
>  **Braka na:** War Queen, but a better translation would probably be External Queen. Braka describes the war families duties, which included war, trade, and diplomacy.  
>  **Lukan na:** High Priestess/ Religion Queen. Leader of all religious duties.  
>  **Lumar na:** Civics Queen, but a slightly better translation may be Internal Queen. In charge of all duties of internal matters, such as taxes, road care, storing of food, etc.  
>  **Zota:** father; Zo: poppa/dad  
>  **Banduah:** Wild child/ fierce child. Term of endearment.  
>  **Klasu:** Literally canine/feline hybrid long since let lose in the wild and then domesticated over years of time. Three varieties, War Klasu (big enough to ride one), Hunter Klasu (Smaller, but capable of great agility, and still large beside.) and Wild Klasu.  
>  **Tokanin:** Dough stuffed with leftovers, baked, and preserved in preserving cabinets to cut down on waste. Made to increase emergency stores, but also often used as an easy traveling food, feeding the army during war, and for the many workaholics who never leave their offices.  
>  **Abu fruit:** Skifandrian fruit, no idea what it tastes like. For funzzies and off the top of my head lets say minty black licorice.  
>  **Sanahil:** Light stone. May be powered through glyphs, may be created through treating stones in elixirs, may be both.  
>  **Kamor:** Dark one. Zanta's baby name based off her very dark green hair.  
>  **Indim:** Idiot, moron, dork. A very light insult often used as an endearment.  
>  **Zazumi:** Grandaughter.  
>  **Sabada:** Elder. A respectful title, also used to refer to any living great-grandparent and higher as they don't have easy words for those.  
>  **Kakola:** Grandaughter  
>  **Zumi:** Daughter  
>  **Kola:** Mother; Ko: Mom, Mamma


End file.
